


do you love her to death?

by lover_of_queens



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, but it's brief, referenced past farah/rosalind, spoilers for season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29574513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_queens/pseuds/lover_of_queens
Summary: Rosalind visits Saul in prison to gloat." “What have you done with Farah?” his voice bellows through the room; dust falling from the ceiling with the force of his words.Rosalind’s grin slides into place. “Did nobody tell you what became of your precious Farah Dowling?" "
Relationships: Farah Dowling/Saul Silva
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	do you love her to death?

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally got around to finishing Fate the other day and needless to say Farah's last scene left me with a lot of emotions. This piece, with Saul, felt like the best way to work through them. 
> 
> The title comes from one of my favourite poems by Mahmoud Darwish. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The prisons in Solaria are cold. The kind of cold that seeps through cement and bone and makes a home in their cracks. The light shining in through the solitary window feels like a mockery of warmth, but Saul supposes that he should be grateful he even has one in the first place. He would say it adds some much-needed cheer to the cinder block walls, but all it does is remind him of how much is out of reach. 

He clings to the threadbare blanket even though it offers him no comfort; he’s convinced the fibres are interwoven with plastic and it scratches against his forearms. Still, it is something to hold. Something to ground him. These prisons were designed to break a person’s mind and the longer he stays here the more his grip on reality fractures. And he can’t afford that. He needs his wits about him so he can get home. Get back to _Farah_.

He recognizes the distinction in his mind is meaningless; the two became synonymous a long time ago. 

A sudden clacking on the floor pulls his gaze from the window. He expects it will be Queen Luna with her taunts and promises of ill will. For someone who claims to be busy running a kingdom, she somehow always makes time for cruelty. He doesn’t know how Farah had put up with her for as long as she had. 

“Hello, Saul.” 

His blood runs colder than the air around him and he whips his head to look at the figure approaching. Her hands grasping at the bars of steel imprisoning him, a sly grin growing across her face as she watches him take her in. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

Rosalind clucks her tongue as though his answer surprises her. It does not. “Now Saul, that’s no way to treat an old friend.” 

They had never been friends, or anything close to the word. Saul had only ever put up with her presence because Farah had cared about her in ways he could never pretend to understand. And when Rosalind’s lies and betrayals had broken Farah into a million pieces, Saul had been there to wipe the grief from her eyes. But he’d never been able to put the puzzle pieces of her heart back together; despite his best efforts he always came up a piece short. 

Farah had never forgiven herself for the role she played in the tragedy of Aster Dell, and so Saul had never forgiven Rosalind for the hole it had carved in Farah’s soul. He had never learned to accept that some parts of yourself you just don’t get back. 

Saul says nothing, he will not give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. He casts his gaze back to the window; it looks like it will start raining at any moment. The world could be ending right outside his window and he would rather hopelessly watch it all unfold until his last breath than ever lay eyes on Rosalind ever again. 

She laughs and it sounds wrong coming from her throat, like she has stolen the joy of another and locked it away in her chest. The hairs on Saul’s arms raise, he can’t help but feel as though he is playing directly into her plans. 

“I think you owe the new headmistress of Alfea some respect. The last one certainly had you whipped enough.” 

The effect of her words is immediate and despite his promise to remain unaffected, he rushes at the bars of the cell. It is a fool’s effort. He knows that. She knows that. So when his hands cover hers and his nails dig into her flesh, she does not flinch. He has never seen her flinch. 

“What have you done with Farah?” his voice bellows through the room; dust falling from the ceiling with the force of his words. 

Rosalind’s grin slides into place. “Did nobody tell you what became of your _precious_ Farah Dowling?” Her voice is teasing, as though they are two kids in a schoolyard arguing over who gets to use the swing. “Did nobody tell you how I snapped her pretty little neck and buried her beneath the earth?” 

Saul falls to his knees and roars; the rage in his voice threatens to bring the building down with him. Rosalind continues talking, taunting, but he cannot hear a word she utters. He can only hear the blood thrumming in his ears, the pain that threatens to eat him whole. 

He will not cry, he will not cry, he will not cry, he will not - 

“You’re lying,” he says at last. Even he does not believe the words he says. 

Rosalind kneels to the ground, so she can look him in the eyes. She has come here to hurt him and she will not leave until the knife is twisted so deep in his soul that he should stand no chance of recovery. “She’s gone, Saul,” she says, a wicked smile on her face before she sinks her claws into his heart. 

“Tell me, did she ever warm your bed the way she used to warm _mine_? Or did that silly little crush of yours always remain unrequited?”

Saul opens his mouth to respond but he cannot find the words to counter such an accusation. Rosalind has plucked the answer she wants from him. She has won. And he has lost everything that mattered to him. 

“Tsk, tsk. You should have told her how you felt,” Rosalind reaches through the bars but Saul jerks back before she can lay a finger on him. Rosalind just shakes her head. “Any fool could have seen how much she loved you. Any fool but you.” 

She gets up, leaving him on the ground, leaving him shattered. Every footstep she takes feels like another crack in his heart until finally she is gone. He lets the tears fall and makes no effort to wipe them away. Let them be a testament to the woman he would never get a chance to hold in his arms. 

He wishes he had memorized everything about her the last time he saw her. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way she smiled when she thought nobody was looking at her. 

Saul had never stopped looking at her. 

And now he would never gaze upon her again. 

His hand goes to his heart, it is covered in cloth and then skin and then bone but still, he wonders if he only tries hard enough if he will be able to pull it out. If he will be able to make the loss of her _stop_. 

He knows he will hurt for the rest of his life. For what is a life after Farah Dowling but a pale imitation of a dream that try as one might one can never get back to? Choked sobs rip from his throat and he is powerless to stop them. He claws at the skin of his neck to make it stop and his fingernails come away red. 

He thought the worst pain of his life was coming into contact with a burned one. He knows now it was merely child’s play to something as weighty as _loss_. He would gladly let the monsters rip him apart over and over and over again, if only it would bring the air back to her lungs.

He remembers the first time he saw her. A warm September day - their first week at Alfea, back when they were both teenagers. He had spotted her from across the courtyard, sitting on a bench by herself in the sun. The rays coated her hair - it had been blonder then, her skin more sun-kissed. Before the responsibilities of adulthood had kept her mostly indoors. She was glowing, a book in her hand that she couldn’t stop smiling at and he so badly wanted to be a part of the joke. 

He had thought she must be using magic in that moment, something to make herself eclipse the very sun that was shining on her. He didn’t understand then that Farah herself was magic in its purest form. That what he would come to feel for her would be the closest he would get to experiencing what flowed through the veins of fairies. 

And so he had gone over to introduce himself, hands sweating with nervousness - he had always been good with pretty girls but Farah was in a league all her own. He recited what he was going to say over and over again until finally, he worked up the courage - 

And then he had tripped over a crack in the pavement and his already nervous state was unable to catch himself before he ate concrete. Farah had burst out laughing, not at him but with him, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. Her joy had always been contagious; he was sorry he had not seen it more in her last few years. 

She had offered him her hand, and when he had reached up for it and their fingers brushed, he knew that there was no other soul in the Otherworld that could ever compare to her. From that day he had loved her. 

He had just never gotten the chance to tell her. 

By the time he had worked up the courage to ask her on a date, she was already with someone else. And so he played the dutiful role of the friend and listened to Farah gush about how _this must be what love feels like_. And he pushed his pain down because once she was happy that was enough for him. 

And then he bought her chocolates and flowers when teenage love crushed her heart. He held her as she cried over the broken hearts, but the tears always dried quickly. Such was the elasticity of teenage hearts, the belief that there would always be another love just around the corner. 

And then they had graduated, gone their separate ways for a bit, but Saul never forgot about the woman who had stolen his heart from her first laugh. Before long they were reunited at Alfea, but as teachers, not students. The years had only been kind to Farah, and if you had asked Saul to describe her beauty he would have come up empty. The words needed simply did not exist. 

But then _Rosalind_ happened. And he had watched Farah wither away under what Rosalind had called love and he felt powerless to stop it. It was only when the truth of what Rosalind had done at Aster Dell had come out that Farah had broken ties with her. 

And swore she would never love again; that the act only brought pain and suffering to those who undertook it.

Saul could not agree less. 

He makes his way back to his cot, the sky outside has gone dark. He does not know how long he stared at the wall in remembrance. But the one thing he does know: the act of loving Farah has only ever made him a better man. 

He pulls the blanket up to his neck and rests his head against the pillow. As he shuts his eyes he can only hope that he will not feel the ache in his soul as he sleeps. 

* * *

Saul is pulled into a dream, or perhaps it is a memory? It is certainly not one he remembers, but he watches himself stretched out on the couch of Farah’s office. His hair is damp with sweat, blood seeps through a bandage and into the material of the couch. His eyes are pressed firmly shut, he is asleep. Or unconscious. 

This was right after he had been attacked by the burned one, when he was teetering on the edge of life and death; about to slip off into the journey there was no coming back from. 

Farah steps into the office, shutting the door behind her with a soft click as though she is afraid to wake him up. She makes her way over to him, a certain heaviness in her step, before kneeling at his side. Farah’s hand reaches for his forehead, he imagines he was running a fever, fighting the infection. 

He watches as her face crumples. There is no one to hold it together for. 

“Goddammit Saul,” she whispers, thumb going to her cheek to brush away a solitary tear. “You can’t give in to this. You don’t see it - you never have you insufferable bastard - but you’re so much stronger than you believe yourself to be.” 

And with that, she leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, but she lingers just a moment too long. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this all without you. So don’t you dare make me.” 

The universe really does turn the tables in the cruelest of ways. 

Dream-Saul reaches for her and when his hand makes contact with her skin, her image flickers until she blinks out of sight. He feels the last of his hope die in his chest. He thought the one thing he had been spared was watching her _go_. 

Suddenly, the door to the office slams open, and Farah walks through once more. She meets Saul’s gaze and her eyes glow a deep blue. 

“ _Come find me_.” 

* * *

It does not matter how Saul gets out of prison, the strings he had to pull, the bridges forever burned. What matters is that he is out, a fugitive on the run yes, but out nonetheless. And run he does, though the weeks in prison have left him gaunt; a shadow of his former self. But, with Farah on the line, he will gladly run to the edges of the Otherworld in his weakened state. 

Saul takes few breaks as he makes his way through the forests, only enough to keep him alive and on the better edge of sanity. He will rest if he finds Farah. _When_ he finds Farah. He has been unable to think of anything but her since she appeared in his dream that night. If Ben were here he would likely tell Saul that he is chasing a ghost, a hope so thin that merely touching it would cause it to shatter. 

But Saul knows Farah, knows the magic that flowed through her as well as his own thoughts. And what he had felt that night was her magic crying out for help. For his help. And he will do whatever it takes to answer the call. 

He does not go to Alfea, the magic does not pull him there. Instead, it calls him to the one place he had hoped to never have to step foot in again: Aster Dell. He makes his way across the charred landscape, a place that time will never have the power to turn green. Every step brings flashes of the past, as though the very air is haunted with the grief of reliving that day over and over and over again. 

Ruins litter the landscape, the only suggestion that there was ever once life here. The barrier is down for reasons he cannot fathom but is grateful for. His eyes are pulled to one of the ruins in particular and his heart thumps twice in his chest. 

Saul uses whatever strength he has left to run over to the doorway and when his eyes adjust to the darkness he sees a figure huddled in the corner. 

Farah. 

He makes his way over cautiously, fearing the worst. If he is too late he will never forgive himself and a pool of dread is starting to settle in his stomach. But he calls out her name gently and he watches a shudder rip through her body. 

Immediately he is on the floor next to her, pulling her into his chest so he can share whatever body heat he has. She shivers against him, the last dregs of her magic have been committed to keeping her alive but even she can only hold on for so long. 

Saul brings the hand that is not wrapped around her body to her cheek, his thumb running softly over the dirt-stained skin. He does not want to think about where the dirt is from. “I’m here, Farah,” he whispers. A solitary tear runs down his cheek and he is grateful Farah cannot see it. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can -” her words are cut off as a wave of pain courses through her body. Her eyes are clamped shut. Saul grips her tighter, he has come too far to lose her now. 

He presses his forehead against hers. “You’re not fighting alone anymore, Farah. Pull whatever you need from me, I’ll be okay.” 

Saul holds her for what feels like several hours, the sun slowly starting to go down, but they will be fine here for one more night. Eventually, Farah’s breathing starts to settle and when he puts his fingers against her pulse point, her heartbeat is strong. She will recover. He is wrecked, but she will be fine. 

Finally, she opens her eyes, her first true acknowledgment of his presence. “You came,” the words fall from her lips with a hint of disbelief. 

“You should know by now that I will do whatever you ask of me,” Saul says. He cannot help the smile that comes to his face. The world has gone to hell but Farah is alive and in his arms and there is a tenderness to her gaze he has never seen directed at him. 

“I have made many mistakes in my life,” Farah says, her fingers grasping onto Saul’s shirt. He sees he is not the only one who needs to feel grounded. “I think one of my worst was denying what I felt for you all of this time. After,” she pauses, the name cannot be said aloud after all that has happened. “I thought I was protecting myself by pretending that I did not care for you. I did not see the pain I was causing us both.” 

“There is no need to apologize,” Saul says, his hand cups her face. “We are here now, that is enough for me.” 

He has imagined kissing Farah more times in his life than he can count but nothing compares to the reality of it. The surge of emotion that courses through him as Farah tilts her head and captures his lips with her own is unlike anything he has ever felt. It is tender and soft, they are too exhausted for anything else. It is perfect. 

Saul thinks he will happily do this for the rest of his life. 


End file.
